


5 Times Sherlock Teased Someone and 1 Time Someone Teased Him

by Johnlockforthewin



Series: Teased [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Growly Toppy John, M/M, Rimming, Teasing, almost incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlockforthewin/pseuds/Johnlockforthewin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just as the title says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock/Lestrade

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you waiting on my fic Delightful, just hold on, okay? I'm still working on it, but I need a break from the angst and wrote some porn instead. So I did.
> 
> That is all, thank you for your time. Please enjoy the (poorly written) porn. ^^

"Freak, Lestrade wants you in his office," Sally Donovan said with a resentful sigh.

Sherlock looked up from the case he was studying and sauntered off into Lestrade's office. 

"Yes, Lestrade. I'm busy."

"Yeah, I know. I'm stuck on this case and I need your help." Lestrade looked expectantly at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes and came around to the other side of Lestrade's desk. 

"Well?" he asked impatiently. 

 _Maybe this wasn't such a good idea,_ Lestrade thought, forgetting how intoxicating it was to be so close to this brilliant yet arrogant man. Lestrade inhaled deeply, smelling tea, cigarette smoke, and something distinctly Sherlock.

"Lestrade, pay attention; what did you want?" Sherlock put his hand on Lestrade's, which was hold a folder of papers, and brought the hand and its contents closer to his face, fingers carefully on the pulse. "Lestrade are you... are you  _aroused?_ " Sherlock asked incredulously.

Lestrade blushed furiously. "What? No, of course not..."

Sherlock tilted his head down and whispered in Lestrade's ear, "You know, if you were, I would have offered to help you out. But then, you're not aroused. Shame."

Leastrade whipped his head around and reached his hand around to grab the curls on the nape of Sherlock's neck, and pulled him forward for a kiss. Sherlock moaned and turned Lestrade's chair so that it was facing him. He then slotted himself neatly against Lestrade's thighs, effectively putting himself in Lestrade's lap. Sherlock rolled his hips in a tiny circle, eliciting a moan from Lestrade. 

Lestrade wound his arms around the taller man and reached down to cup his truly  _fantastic_ arse. 

Just then, Lestrade's office door swung open, and in walked Sally. "Sir, I was-- what the  _hell_ are you doing to him, freak?" Sherlock smirked as realisation dawned in her eyes. "Oh my god you were-- oh god. I'm sorry I'll just... go."

"Nonsense, Sally," Sherlock said, jumping from Lestrade's lap. "I should be getting home anyway." Sherlock strode to the door and paused. "And detective inspector? If you ever need... assisstance, you know where to find me."

And with that, he shut the door.


	2. Anderson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will happen when Sally tells Anderson about Sherlock and Lestrade?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who is commenting!

_Two days after Sally found Sherlock... well, you know._

_  
_"And you would not _believe_ the look on Greg's face," Sally said animatedly to her colleague and occasional lover. 

Anderson's eyebrow was crinkled in confusion. "I thought the freak didn't even like sex, much less with someone he knows. And why did Lestrade agree?"

"Because," said Sherlock, sweeping into the room, for once without that doctor. "I can be a manipulative bastard when I want." He smirked.

Anderson scoffed. "Manipulative enough into getting someone who _knows_ you to get you off? Not likely."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he said in a voice even lower than his regular voice. "Because, Anderson, I bet you that I could make you _want_ me," he whispered. "And not just want," he continued relentlessly, "but  _need_ me. Need  _me_ to make you cum." All of this said in a quiet, deep whisper that tickled Anderson's ear made Anderson want to punch the freak.

"There is no way I would ever want you. I mean, I'm not even gay, and you're... you."

"Well observed." Sherlock smirked. He turned to the slack jawed Sally behind him. "Donovan, with me for a moment." Once alone, Sherlock spoke. "Why don't we make a bet? 10 quid for whether or not I get him to want me."

Sally looked hesitant, but stuck out her hand, which Sherlock shook. "Now leave."

"What, why?"

Sherlock sighed, "I don't want you interfering."

"Well, how will I know if you've done it?"

Sherlock gave a low chuckle. "You'll know."

 

"Anderson." Sherlock sauntered in, hips swaying, predatory smile on his face. He walked right up to Anderson, ignoring all rules of personal space. 

Anderson stared, wondering if this was some sort of joke.

Sherlock tilted his head down and nibbled lightly at Anderson's neck. "You know Anderson, for all your stupidity, You aren't bad-looking."

"Really?" Anderson asked. 

"Mhmm," Sherlock nuzzled Anderson's collarbone. "Anderson, can I suck you off? Please?" It was that please that was key; Sherlock never said please.

Anderson looked around. No one would ever know, would they? And if Sherlock was as good at this as he was everything else, well... it  _had_ been a long time since he'd gotten head. And the thought of Sherlock Holmes on his knees... God he was getting hard. He nodded.

Sherlock slid to his knees, unbuckling Anderson's trousers. "Say you want me, I need to hear it. Please Anderson?" Sherlock looked up at Anderson through the fringe of his hair and licked his lips.

Anderson gave a strangled noise and nodded.

"No, Anderson, please say it  _please._ I need to know you want your cock in my mouth. Do you want to fuck my face?"

"Hngnn, oh yes," Anderson admitted. "Yes, yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes I want to fuck your face."

Sherlock smirked. "Say you want me."

Anderson squeezed his eyes shut as he felt hot lips close around the head of his cock. "Yes, I want you, oh god I want you so bad, please."

And then suddenly, Anderson felt very cold. He opened his eyes and saw Holmes standing a few feet away, putting himself to rights while Anderson fairly thrummed with need.

"Wha-- what the hell? Where are you going?" Anderson asked to the retreating figure.

"To collect 10 quid, and buy some mints."

Cheeky bastard knew this was going to happen, knew he would be able to make Anderson want him. But then, that is what he said, isn't it? Damn.

 

At the end of the day, when Anderson was in the shower wanking, if he thought of a certain detective on his knees... well, who could blame him?


	3. Moriarty

When Sherlock woke up the first thing he noticed was his surroundings _. Musty smell, water dripping 4 metres away, sound of keys on a computer, old pipes, empty, enclosed, yet large. A warehouse. The keys, who is typing?_

“Oh good, you’re awake, I was beginning to think my man hit you too hard.”

Well that voice wasn’t difficult to place.

When Sherlock went to speak he realised he had a piece of cloth in his mouth. How had he not noticed earlier?

“Oh, let me take that off.” Moriarty said as he reached behind Sherlock’s head, taking out the gag.

“So, you’re doing well,” Sherlock said monotonously. “But would you mind terribly if I wasn’t in handcuffs? They’re starting to dig in to my wrists.”

“Oh, silly me. Of course.”

When he was uncuffed, Sherlock saw the laptop computer Moriarty had been using. A new one, by the looks of it.

Moriarty turned to look at what he was staring at. “Oh, that. You see Sherlock, there is something I want you to give me, and I wanted a record of it.” At Sherlock’s raised eyebrow, Moriarty explained, “Well, my dear, it really would be a shame for you to die a virgin, wouldn’t it? So, what I want is your virginity; simple as that.”

Sherlock was unimpressed; he wasn’t a virgin, but it might be interesting if he were to act as one for Moriarty. “Are you just going to take it, then?”

“Oh, no, dear. I don’t take… much. I will not take this, you must give it.” Moriarty raised a neatly plucked eyebrow at him.

Sherlock shrugged and said, “Okay.”

“Well, you see—what?” Moriarty was sure he heard incorrectly. “Did you just…?”

“Why not? Could be fun.”

After Moriarty picked his jaw up off the floor, he spoke. “Well, then. Alright.” And he went to over to Sherlock, and had Sherlock stand so he could sit, switching their places. Sherlock took his own initiative and sat down on the criminals lap.

Pleased with the wide-eyed look he’d received, Sherlock ground down slightly, enough to tease, but not to please. Sherlock ducked his head and whispered to Moriarty, “I knew it would be you, Jim.”

Moriarty shuddered and gripped Sherlock hips, pulling him down.

Sherlock leaned in to kiss his, pulling back in false hesitance. “I…”

“It’s okay, my baby, relax; let me do this,” Moriarty cooed.

Sherlock nodded, and leaned in again, brushing his lips against the other man’s.

When Moriarty moved his hands down to grip Sherlock’s bum, Sherlock suddenly stood up and backed away. “No, I… no.”

Moriarty looked disappointed, like he wanted to protest, but nodded regretfully.

Sherlock bent forward and asked, “You’re going to let me go? The consulting criminal left hard and wanting at the hands of his nemesis? Really, you can be a bit pathetic, but this? This is low, even for you.” As Sherlock neared the door, he turned around to face the slack-jawed criminal. “Oh, and _dear_? I’m not a virgin.”

And with that, Sherlock walked out of the clutches of his nemesis.

 _Well that was rather interesting,_ he thought to himself. _Not that John should ever need to know…_


	4. Mycroft

“Sherlock, your brother’s here!” John shouted from his spot in the kitchen, making tea.

“I’m not home!” Sherlock shouted back.

“Dr. Watson,” Mycroft began. “Would it be terribly inconvenient if I were to take Sherlock for an hour or two? He is not in trouble.”

At John’s raised eyebrow, “Well, he is not in _severe_ trouble.”

Sherlock was tromping down the steps dressing gown billowing out behind him.

John looked at the direction his flatmate had ventured from and sighed. “Sherlock, why were you in my room? Again? My laptop’s not even up there.”

Sherlock ignored him in favour of glowering at his older brother. “What do you want?”

“Sherlock, I do not think this is a matter to be discussed in front of… company.” Sherlock was utterly unruffled, not caring in the slightest. Mycroft sighed. “Very well. I noticed you recently encountered Moriarty. As I can see you now, I know that no harm has come to you, but the footage I viewed of the events that took place were rather… well they were interesting to say the least.” Mycroft looked at his defiant brother’s face, and continued. “I would be concerned for this, but, as it is—”

“Mycroft, we can leave,” Sherlock interrupted.

John was thoroughly confused now, wondering what happened.

 

 

At the Diogenes Club, in Mycroft’s office, the eldest Holmes spoke.

“Sherlock, really. How could you do this to yourself? What if he had not let you stop? I am surprised at your outlandishness, and would not believe it had it been anyone else, or not on the CCTV.”

“Oh, brother dear, I simply needed to get free, and I can be _very_ persuasive, if I need something. In fact, I had this same conversation not long ago,” Sherlock said thoughtfully.

Mycroft snorted. “Well, whatever tricks you play won’t work on me.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Won’t it?”

While Mycroft turned around to get something from his desk, Sherlock stalked up behind his brother, putting his hands on the hips in front of him. “You know,” Sherlock’s deep voice rumbled out, “I could easily be… _persuasive_ , if I need anything from you.” The younger Holmes’ hands ran up the older’s chest, down and then back up, this time under all the layers worn. He felt soft skin, lying overtop a well-muscled body. Sherlock knew Mycroft wasn’t overweight, he simply liked to irritate him.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” Mycroft asked, but made no move to pull away.

When Sherlock’s hands dived beneath Mycroft’s trousers and pants, Mycroft sucked in a breath. “Sherlock, for god’s sake, I’m your _brother_.”

“Oh come now,” Sherlock said. “Don’t pretend like you’ve never looked at me. Do you remember that summer, when I was 14 and you 21? You thought you had finally gotten your body under control, but I remember when I got out of our pool, you looking at me. Not just looking, _seeing_ me, seeing my body. You probably knew you were gay at the time, but you were surprised nonetheless when you got hard.” When Mycroft gasped, Sherlock smirked and said, “Oh, yes. Don’t think you ever hid that from me. I knew you wanted me, I know you _want_ me. But brother…” Sherlock licked the shell of his brother’s ear and whispered, “Are you going to do anything about it?”

Sherlock backed away slowly, and Mycroft turned, looking flushed and embarrassed.

“I…” There was nothing he could say. Yes, he _did_ want Sherlock, but…

“Sherlock, leave my office now.”

Sherlock nearly jumped for joy. “Oh, finally.”

“What?” Mycroft blanched.

“I told you I could be persuasive if I needed something.”

“What? What did you need?”

Sherlock was at the door to the main room and said, “I needed, brother, for you to stop annoying me, and let me go. Which you have. Thank you.”

And with that, he took off.

 

Mycroft knew he wouldn’t be able to go see his brother without getting mocked, so he settled for the next best thing.

Sitting down, he got himself comfortable, and turned on the CCTV feed to Sherlock’s bedroom at 221b Baker St.


	5. Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the man Tom in this in my head is Tom Hiddleston.

“Sherlock, could you please tell me where we’re going?” John whined.

Sherlock sighed as though it was such a great strain on him to tell John case details. “Fine. We’re going to a gay bar to look for a criminal that takes his victims from said bar, has sex with them, and then kills them, after which he then disposes of their body.”

John was slack-jawed. “God that’s ghastly.” John thought for a moment. “Hang on, the bodies found were all men, weren’t they? I mean—”

“John, I said _gay_ bar, do keep up.” Sherlock interrupted.

“Alright, is that why I’m dressed as a paedophile?” John tried to joke, eyeing his tight button-up and slim jeans that Sherlock had thrown at him and barked, “You’re wearing those.”

Sherlock scowled, looking insulted. “So all gay men are paedophiles, then? John that is a stereotype because that is what catches people’s attention, that’s what they remember.”

“Sorry, no, I really didn’t mean it that way, I swear. That was, not funny, I’m sorry.” _I’m apologising to Sherlock Holmes; what has the world come to?_ “So, um, well I’ve always kinda wondered, and I know you said you don’t, you know, _do_ things, I didn’t know if maybe—”

“John, spit it out; you’re confusing me with all of your mumbling.”

“Right, sorry. I was just wondering, well… are you gay?” John cringed. _Why have I suddenly turned into a 12 year old afraid to talk about sex?_

“Yes,” Sherlock replied without looking up from the phone he just got out.

John didn’t know what to say. He had expected a ‘no, John, don’t be ridiculous,’ or an ‘I’ve told you, I’m married to my work.’ But John never expected him to say yes. Well it was a possibility, obviously, but it was just such a blunt answer, it shocked John. Although, it was Sherlock, blunt was kind of his… thing.

“O-okay, then.”

The cab pulled to a stop in front of a flashing sign spelling out ‘ECLIPSE.’ John could tell right off it was a gay club; with the thumping music carrying out to the sidewalk, the male couples snogging against the wall, and several men with hardly a thing on, sauntering in through the doors, it was hard to mistake.

John took a deep breath and braced himself as Sherlock got out and all but dragged John out of the cab and up to the bouncer. Again, John was amazed by his friends acting abilities when Sherlock batted his eyes and said sweetly to the large man at the door, “I’m incredibly sorry, my boyfriend and I left our memberships at home, but don’t have enough money for a cab to take us back and get them, come back here, and make it home again. I can try to help you identify me, but I just don’t have our passes.”

The bouncer looked around, then back at Sherlock, then nodded his head and stepped aside, letting Sherlock and John through.

“Oh, thank you sir!” Sherlock called out after the man as they walked inside.

Once inside, John could _feel_ the music, but couldn’t recognise it; so loud it was making the ground vibrate. Over at the left there was a large pedestal, with a barely legal boy atop, dancing to the thunderous beat. At the right, there was the actual bar. The whole place was drowned in green light, which changed to blue at the change of song, one John still couldn’t recognise.

“Wow…” John said under his breath.

He looked up and saw Sherlock weaving his way through to the bar. Once there, Sherlock put an arm around John’s waist, pulling him close, and then ordered for both of them. “A pint of Stella, and a gin and tonic.”

John looked up at Sherlock, strangely comfortable with Sherlock’s arm around him, and asked, “Did you go clubbing a lot before you met me?”

Sherlock looked thoughtful. “Not a lot, no. But certainly more than I do now.”

Their drinks came out, giving John a moment to think. “Wait, do you mean, you still go clubbing? When, you’re always with me.”

Sherlock sighed. “John, I went clubbing because it helps to release my mind, and stop thinking for a short while. Particularly helpful at the end of cases. And yes, I still come here; why do you think I was acquainted with the manager who wanted my help?”

“Well, honestly I thought perhaps you were broadening your range of people that could owe you favours.” John chuckled, but then turned serious. “But still, how did you manage to go clubbing without me noticing?”

“John, you are spectacularly easy to fool, but that aside, I simply go at night. And as I told you before, I don’t go much anymore; perhaps once every few months after a stressful case.”

John sat on that for a while, and then suddenly, Sherlock stood up and turned towards John.

“John, I need to go talk to that man, he is the suspect. When I give you the signal, I want you to come over and yell at me for being with another man, can you do that, please?”

Before John could answer, or even ask what the signal was, Sherlock had danced his way through the sea of gyrating bodies over to a man with spiky black hair with blue tipped spikes. The man was wearing no shirt, and the black jeans he wore were slung low about his hips, ending with dangerous black boots. In the man’s right hand there was a drink, and the left was placed delicately on one sharp hipbone. As far as men went, John decided, this one wasn’t bad looking. John sighed and waited as he watched out for Sherlock’s signal.

 

Sherlock was approaching a young, fit, and very model-worthy man in black jeans and no shirt. Honestly, if this was five years ago, he’d totally tap that. Sherlock made sure the man was looking as he sauntered his way over to him, swinging his hips and giving a slow, predatory smile. “Hello,” he said.

“Uh, h-hello,” the man replied.

 _Oh, this is good,_ Sherlock thought. _He makes himself appear as appealing as he can depending on what he thinks his victim wants to lure his victims in. Interesting._

Sherlock decided to up his play a bit. He stepped in closer, clearly invading the man’s personal space, and placed a hand on the man’s hip as he said, “So, what’s your name?” Sherlock leaned in so closely that he was tempted to lick the shell of the man’s ear. So he did, and the man shuddered.

“I-I’m Tom,” the man stuttered. “You?” The man—Tom—looked Sherlock up and down, and a little fire lit it his eyes.

“My name isn’t important. What is, is if you are interested in… taking a _walk_ outside.” Sherlock deliberately pitched his voice so that _walk_ went into Tom’s ears as _fuck me_.

Tom just nodded dumbly. Sherlock chuckled. “Go outside and wait; I’ll be there soon.”

As soon as Tom left, Sherlock dropped his act and went over to John. “John, this man is our suspect; I have the information I need, but now I just need an escape. So after about five minutes, walk outside, and start yelling at me for cheating. Can you do that?”

John nodded, and looked at his watch to check for when time was up.

Sherlock went outside, the cool London air a refreshing change to the damp heat of the club.

“Psst,” Sherlock heard, and turned towards the sound.

Tom was standing with one shoulder against the wall, facing Sherlock. His belt was open and his trousers had dropped dangerously low.

 _Oh,_ Sherlock thought, _I could have had fun with him; too bad John’s coming soon. Oh, and that he’s a criminal._

Sherlock walked quickly, determined to touch this man at least once before John came out.

Sherlock pushed the man roughly into the brick wall behind him and slammed his lips down onto Tom’s. He let his hands drift down over Tom’s sharp hips, and his fingers peeked in a little. He took his fingers out and placed his entire hand on the man’s arse over his trousers.

 _He has a great arse,_ Sherlock thought absently. He ground their hips together using the leverage he had with his height and hand placement. Tom moaned and slid his hands into Sherlock’s trousers, feeling and palming Sherlock’s arse. This time it was Sherlock who let out a moan; he _loved_ having his arse played with.

Just as Sherlock forgot about John, and was about to drop to his knees, said army doctor came rushing towards him and Tom, yelling, “What the hell? What are you doing with _him_?”

Sherlock pulled away quickly rushing to John. “No, John I can explain, I was just—”

Sherlock was cut off by a very surprising slap in the face. Not a punch, a slap. Sherlock stood in silent shock as John yelled at him and told him to come home ‘right the bloody fuck now.’

Sherlock followed John into a cab, and wondered when John had taken control of his life.


	6. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, hear is the last chapter. I really do apologise to those waiting on delightful, but I just haven't the motivation. Perhaps the new season will spur me into action. Anyway, here we get to see John tease Sherlock.
> 
> ^^

Sherlock was still a little shocked about what had happened. John had seemed _really_ angry. They were in the cab back home from the club, and Sherlock was nervous. Of course he had nothing to worry about, except perhaps John going into a rage about _using people_ here and _lying_ there. But really, John hadn’t seemed upset at all when Sherlock had _told_ him the plan.

Sherlock glanced over at John. He seemed tense, and Sherlock wondered if that was from the event that had taken place or if it was just a tiring case. Either way, Sherlock felt oddly compelled to make John a cuppa when they got in.

And when they got back to 221b Baker Street, they abandoned their coats downstairs and Sherlock went to the kitchen to start on John’s tea. Or tried to. He didn’t make it as far as the kitchen when John suddenly had him pinned to the wall just outside the kitchen.

“Don’t think you’re getting away with this Sherlock,” John said in a deep, _dangerous_ voice. “Don’t think I don’t know about all of your tirades with Lestrade, Anderson, Moriarty, and _Mycroft_ , for fuck’s sake.” John was rolling his hips against Sherlock’s and Sherlock _whimpered_. It just wasn’t fair. John continued regardless. “No, I don’t believe that you’re any kind of virgin.” John’s low voice was making Sherlock’s knees weak, his thighs tremble, and his cock hard. John leaned in close and licked the shell of Sherlock’s ear and whispered, “You’re just a filthy _tease_ , and you know it.” His hands snaked around to Sherlock’s arse, squeezing. Sherlock mewled. “Do you know how hot you make me? How hot you made me when I came outside, ready to yell at you, and you were fucking _desperate_ for his cock? I saw you, ready to get on your knees.”

Sherlock was thrumming; something had to give, or he was going to explode. “Oh, John, _please…_ ” Sherlock whined.

John chuckled darkly. “Please? Please what, Sherlock? Please don’t tease you like you teased all those others?” Another chuckle and John swooped in to lick Sherlock’s neck. “How about no? How about I leave you hard and wanting, hm? Does that seem fair?” On the last word, John squeezed as hard as he could on Sherlock’s arse and bit his neck, doubtlessly leaving a bruise. Sherlock keened.

“Oh, John, please, I’m sorry, don’t tease me, oh god I need to cum…” Sherlock knew he was being pathetic, but he had already not gotten off with Tom, and now John was here, talking in his sexy soldier voice, the one warranted no disobedience, no nonsense, and _no survivors_.

Quite abruptly, Sherlock registered that he was being dragged to his room, thrown on the bed, and suddenly had a lapful of John Watson. Rock hard cock, solid, _teasing_ John Watson.

“Yes, Sherlock, you look so sexy when you squirm like that. You’re so desperate, aren’t you? You just want my cock, don’t you? Hmm, yes, you’re so good.” John ripped open Sherlock shirt, buttons flying everywhere, and leaned down to take a nice long lick from Sherlock’s bellybutton to his chin, encountering no hair along the way. “Delicious.”

Sherlock had no words. _How had he lost control? Usually he knew everything, even before it happened. Damn John Watson and his amazing cock and dirty talk._

“Mmm, turn over, babe,” John said, tapping one of Sherlock’s hips.

Sherlock, past caring about appearing pathetic and turned over, bum raised invitingly in the air. John reached under him and undid his belt, and pulled his trousers down. He laughed, noticing Sherlock was wearing no pants. He leaned down and sharply bit down on one pale globe. Sherlock shuddered.

John laughed. “Yes, I saw your reaction when he grabbed your arse.” Sherlock knew he was done for; John knew all of his secrets.

John nibbled and kissed his way in to the crevice hiding the tiny entrance he knew was there. He reached his hands up, spread those round cheeks apart and lightly touched his tongue to the furled skin. Sherlock flipped. “Oh god John!” There was no way John could’ve known that Sherlock’s favourite sexual activity was rimming, there was no way.

John didn’t relent, but breathed in, smelling soap and musk. Sherlock was completely bare down there, as he had been on his chest, and John _loved_ it.

“Hm, you’re so smooth.” And he went right back in, licking at Sherlock’s hole, making it twitch. John smiled as he heard Sherlock go crazy, just from his tongue. John decided that the little hole needed even more attention, and so began to dig his tongue down into it, causing Sherlock to babble senselessly.

“Oh, John, yes oh yes, yes, eat me, eat me, please, oh shit, fuck!” he yelled as John breached his tight little hole.

John removed his tongue to say, “Oh, Sherlock you taste so sweet, I just want to eat your arse all fucking day.”

Sherlock adamantly agreed with that. Quite loudly. “Yes! Yes, John, oh shit, ohmm…” Sherlock keened and moaned, mewled and whined, and John fucking _loved_ it.

John nipped and suckled at the rim, and then latched his lips around it, and stuck his tongue in _deep_ , and sucked _hard_.

Sherlock lost his mind.

“OH FUCK YES! OH, YES, JOHN, YES OHH HOLY FUCKING _FUCK!_ ”

Sherlock screamed, and bucked, and whined, and came so fucking hard it made his ears pop and his breath stop. He shook, and bucked his hips down into the mattress, as if searching for somewhere to stick his prick.

John pulled back in wonder; he had planned on stopping before Sherlock came, intending to teach him a lesson. But leave it to Sherlock to change all of John’s plans.

John looked down at his friend in concern. The man was shaking and shivering, and was still making noises in the back of his throat, while still continuing to move his hips in tiny thrusts.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, are you, are you _still_ cumming?”

The only answer he received was a low moan and Sherlock’s hips moving faster.

John turned Sherlock carefully, afraid he had broken his friend.

Sherlock had tears dried down his cheeks and his eyes screwed shut. Sherlock whispered, “John, John cum on me.”

Now John didn’t need to be told twice. He undid his trousers, pulled his prick out, and started stroking it furiously. “Hmm… Sherlock,” he whispered. “Sherlock, I’m going to—”

“Yes,” Sherlock responded and clenched his eyes, while John painted his face in white stripes.

Sherlock opened his eyes, licked his cum-stained lips and said, “John Watson, _you_ are a bloody tease.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So John tried to tease him, but oh well.
> 
> ^^


End file.
